Omniscience in Marvel 174

174: Last Day on Earth.

…

The night sky over Earth's largest cities was ablaze with fireworks, the promise of a new millennium reflected in every burst of color.

It was the eve of 1999, and as the clock ticked closer to midnight, the world was caught in a moment of collective excitement, optimism, and nostalgia.

But for Leucadius, it was nothing more than a marker—another cycle turning in the grand tapestry of existence, today was his last night on Earth.

He stood alone on the balcony of a quiet, modest apartment overlooking New York. The city's lights twinkled like a blanket of stars spread across the horizon.

Below, the sound of celebration and laughter echoed through the streets, but for Leucadius, the noise felt distant, hollow.

He had outlived centuries of such moments, but this one was different, it was the end of his time on this world, his final night before the pieces of his work were completed and he moved on.

He wasn't sure what had driven him to stay this long.

Perhaps it was the lingering ties, the people he had met along the way, the bonds that had formed despite the overwhelming weight of his cosmic nature.

But now, standing here, he knew it was time to let go.

Leucadius had already said his farewells.

…

Earlier That Day

Leucadius had visited Peggy first. Amongst the living Humans, he had known her longer than anyone, watching her grow from the determined young agent to the tireless, world-weary leader she had become.

Their friendship had been built on mutual respect, shared goals, and an unspoken understanding. She was one of the few who knew the true depth of his nature as God.

She greeted him with her usual smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. She knew something was different today. "Lucas," she said, stepping forward to give him a firm, brief hug. "I've had a feeling this day was coming. You wouldn't be here unless it was the last time."

Leucadius had given her a soft smile. "I've been here long enough, Peggy. More than long enough. But the world is changing, and I... I can't stay any longer."

She studied him for a moment, her piercing gaze softening. "I knew you were never really meant for Earth. You're too... vast, too far beyond us. But you've done more for this planet than most could ever understand. Just promise me one thing."

Leucadius raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Don't forget us," she said, her voice quiet but filled with the weight of the years they'd spent together.

"I could never forget you, Peggy," he replied with a sincerity that made her heart ache. "Your legacy will always be a part of me."

They stood there for a moment, the quiet understanding between them louder than any words could be.

When the silence was finally broken, it was Peggy who pulled back first. "Well, if you're leaving, you better go. You know I'll never let you hear the end of it if you don't."

With a small, rueful smile, Leucadius nodded. "Goodbye, Peggy."

She returned his smile, though there was a sadness behind it. "Goodbye, Leucadius. Take care of yourself, wherever you go."

…

Next, he had visited Hank Pym, who had once been a close ally, a fellow inventor and scientist, and even a friend. But that bond had been shattered, the cracks widening with the years that followed.

Hank had always been one to throw himself into his work, his mind constantly seeking answers, but nothing had consumed him more than the disappearance of his wife, Janet.

Her loss had hit Hank like a battering ram, and it was a pain that hadn't lessened with time.

Lucas had been there when it happened, but his refusal to sign off a petition to fund Hank's research into bringing her back had caused a fracture between them, one that had never healed.

Now, the tension between them was palpable, hanging in the air like smoke that refused to clear.

Leucadius entered Hank's lab, a place that once felt like home, but now seemed like a reminder of everything that had gone wrong. Hank stood at the workbench, his back turned, his hands moving over the tools in absent thought.

When he noticed Leucadius enter, he stiffened, the tension in his shoulders betraying the years of unresolved anger.

"I don't get it," Hank said without turning around. His voice was sharp, brittle. "You're not like us, Lucas. You don't age, you don't feel the way we feel. How can you just... walk away?"

Leucadius stood silently, his eyes never leaving Hank's back. There was no anger in his expression, no defensiveness, just quiet resignation.

"On the contrary, actually, I do," he said calmly, his voice carrying his sincerity. "I feel things, Hank. More than you could imagine. But my presence on Earth was never meant to be permanent. There was always a reason, a purpose, but now that time is done."

Hank knew Lucas was abnormal but he never put him on the same standing as God and Leucadius didn't mind. No normal person would think the biblical God would just be spending his days on Earth like a human and Leucadius didn't think it wise to share.

Hank's hands clenched around the tools, his back still turned. "And that's it? You just leave? No explanation, no closure?" His voice cracked slightly as he turned around, frustration and hurt masking his words. "You could've helped me! You refused to help me."

Leucadius's expression softened, though there was a trace of regret behind his eyes. "I couldn't give you what you wanted, Hank. You know I couldn't. I told you then that some things can't be undone, no matter how much we wish they could. But I'm not abandoning you. I'm simply... moving on."

Hank's jaw tightened, his anger rising, but there was a deeper hurt there, a raw wound that Leucadius could feel from where he stood. "You don't get it, do you?" Hank's voice trembled with frustration. "You could've helped. You're not just human, you are a god. A goddamn intelligent one at that. you've lived through centuries. You could've found a way. But you turned me down. And that was the end of it. We were... we were friends, Lucas. I trusted you. But you... you wouldn't even try."

Leucadius closed his eyes briefly, letting the words sink in. He had made his choice, and it had come at a cost, but he would never regret it, not even if it meant losing Hank.

Afterall, he wouldn't be the first human he had left with a broken heart. "I understand why you're angry. You wanted something I couldn't give, and I failed you in that. But I had to make a decision, Hank, and that decision was to stop you from chasing a dream that would only bring you further pain."

The silence between them stretched thin before Hank finally spoke again, his voice low but with an edge of emotion. "You think you know better than everyone, don't you? You act like you're above all of this, like you're not one of us."

Hank's voice hardened as he took a step closer, glaring at Leucadius. "But you are, Lucas. You still feel. You still lose. You've just forgotten what it's like to care about the things you leave behind."

Leucadius's eyes softened, and for a moment, he felt the weight of the years between them—felt the gulf that had once been a bridge now so far apart.

"I've never forgotten, Hank. But sometimes, the best thing we can do is let go. The universe has a way of making us understand what's truly important, even if it hurts. I'm not trying to be above you. I'm just... trying to be at peace."

Hank stood there, still shaking his head, a bitter smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You're impossible, you know that? You walk away from everything with that calm of yours, like nothing matters, like it was never real."

Leucadius's lips quirked, his eyes glistening with a hint of a smile. "I've heard that before. I'm starting to think it's my trademark."

Hank didn't respond immediately, instead running a hand through his hair, clearly at a loss for words. The room was thick with unspoken emotion—the love, the anger, the regret all battling for dominance.

"Goodbye, Hank," Leucadius finally said, his voice quieter now, a subtle sadness in the tone. "You've got the heart to rebuild this world in ways I could never do. I just... I can't stay here any longer. There's too much waiting for me elsewhere."

Hank's eyes flickered, the anger still there, but so was something else—something he didn't want to acknowledge. "Goodbye, Lucas. I hope you find what you're looking for... wherever that is."

Leucadius nodded once, a silent promise in the gesture, before he turned and left the lab, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

…

Leucadius walked down the sterile hallway of Hank Pym's lab. As he turned the corner, he was met by the sight of Hope van Dyne standing in the hallway. She was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, her expression stoic.

Hope's gaze met his, but there was no warmth, no recognition of the past camaraderie he once shared with her father. She was a stranger now, a different version of the girl he remembered from years ago.

Leucadius couldn't help but muse that the years of hatred Hank had carried toward him had likely transferred to her.

After all, she had essentially lost both of her parents the day Janet disappeared—and with it, she lost the bond she had with her father. Hank's bitterness and unresolved pain had been a heavy burden, and now Hope seemed to bear it too.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as Leucadius approached, but she didn't say anything immediately. He stood before her, his presence almost too imposing for the narrow space between them.

"Lucas," Hope said coldly, her voice laced with the same chill Hank had often directed at him.

There was no joy in her words, no attempt at civility. She had every right to harbor that resentment, he had, after all, refused to help Hank bring her mother back when he could.

Leucadius studied her for a moment, feeling the weight of those years in her stare. "Hope," he replied simply, his tone neutral.

His eyes softened for a fleeting moment, but his smile returned swiftly, tinged with an odd mixture of sympathy and understanding. "All things happen for good to those who are destined to be great," he said, the words flowing out almost effortlessly, as if they were a simple, universal truth. "You've only got to look past the pain."

Hope didn't respond. She just stared at him, her brow furrowing slightly as she processed the words. But before she could muster a reply, or even react to his cryptic statement, Leucadius's smile grew wider.

Without waiting for any further acknowledgment, his form seemed to shimmer, a faint ripple in the air as he vanished from her sight.

The hallway was suddenly empty, the silence hanging heavy in the air.

Hope blinked, staring at the spot where Leucadius had been standing only a moment ago.

There was no sign of him now, just the lingering feeling of his presence, a stark reminder of how little had changed. She exhaled, her breath shallow, before she turned and walked away, leaving the empty hallway behind her.

…

He had said his farewells to others, the young Maria Hill, who still respected him, even if she never fully understood his choice to remain in the shadows of Earth's 'greatest' organisation.

Clint Barton, who had once shared a quiet drink with him in a dimly lit bar, nodding in understanding without words.

Tony Stark, too, had sent him a brief but meaningful farewell, though it was wrapped in sarcasm and reluctant admiration.

Leucadius had told them all the same thing: his work here was done.

…

Now, On the Balcony

As the final seconds of 1999 ticked down, Leucadius stood still, the weight of his decision pressing on his chest.

The last of his Earthly attachments had been severed, and with them, any lingering doubts about leaving. He had helped where he could, influenced the world in ways that no one would ever fully understand, and now, it was time to let go.

The fireworks exploded in the sky, signaling the arrival of the new year. Leucadius closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the vibrant colors to wash over him, before he turned and walked toward the exit of the apartment.

He had made a promise to himself long ago, a promise that was now fulfilled. Earth had changed, and so had he. He had left behind the ashes of old friends, of the people he could never truly be, of the life he could never quite live.

But now, he was ready for the next phase.

In the stillness of the night, Leucadius stepped into the shadows, vanishing from the world he had come to know.

…